Sketchbook
by xamsiras
Summary: Art students are so eccentric, and you don't need to tell me twice. Always wearing black, smoking a cigarette, jeans covered in paint, you get the picture. This guy, however, doesn't seem to be a cliche. Maybe it's his freakishly spiky hair that reminds me of a hedgehog, or his too-blue eyes, or that gaudy crown chain necklace. [AU. SOKAI. ONE SHOT.]


**Sketchbook**

Today is the day.

Today is the day I ask to see his sketchbook.

Today is the day I ask to see his sketchbook, before school lets out for winter break.

Today is the day I ask to see his sketchbook, before school lets out for winter break, and I don't have the same schedule as him, so I won't see him on the bus at 7:00AM, sketching away, a few seats behind me.

Always a few seats behind me. Never further, never ahead. Three rows behind me, window seat on the left, exactly. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, sketching away. The paper scratches beneath his 2H pencil, filling the pages with who-knows-what.

Art students are so eccentric, and you don't need to tell me twice. Always wearing black, smoking a cigarette, jeans covered in paint, you get the picture. This guy, however, doesn't seem to be a cliche. Sure, he _looks _eccentric, but not in your classical bohemian/beatnik way.

Maybe it's his freakishly spiky hair that reminds me of a hedgehog, or his too-blue eyes. Maybe it's his slightly tan skin, even though it's the middle of December and it's way too cold to be outside. Maybe it's because he wears that gaudy crown chain necklace every day, with those bizarre red pants and yellow clown shoes. I mean, sure, he might have big feet, but those shoes are really something else.

It was a cold October morning when I noticed he was glaring at me with white-hot intensity. I paused my iPod, which was blasting some random Utada Hikaru song, and glared back. He noticed my disgruntled face and looked downward immediately, tensing up. I continued staring at him for a few moments, making sure to give him the message of "don't even try staring at me again, you creepy art student," and returned to my music. He had stopped drawing completely and put his pencils in a small black case, focusing on the scenery sweeping by us at lightening speed on the smelly, crowded bus.

That message should've completely worked, but it happened again the next week. I caught him staring at me, with this bizarre look pasted on his face. I snorted and finally decided to ignore him. I studied my psychology textbook with undivided attention, just to keep my mind off of his looks. I really disliked art students, with their carefree attitudes and free flowing emotions. He was probably overdramatic and messy, with no work ethic. I had been working hard for my psychology degree - I knew what a bitch calculus was. I knew order and reason was completely foreign to him, and it was disturbing.

I suppose I could've been flattered, as he wasn't necessarily ugly or anything. He had soft features and a kind looking face, with big hands that probably did his drawings justice. I think he had an aura of goofiness, or just plain calmness, that drew people in. I never really noticed him before the bus rides, but when I did, I began seeing him around the school very often. He would be lying down on the bench outside the cafeteria, enormous clown shoes propped up against a wall, sleeping with a sketchbook wide open on his face. People would whisper around him, asking each other who the heck this kid was, and what his deal might be. He would just waltz around the campus with oversized headphones blasting some sort of rock song, completely ignoring the outside world. It was irritating that nothing seemed to phase him, aside from the time I glared back at him on the bus. I began to pick him out more often, whether he was sitting with a few other goofballs in the cafeteria, or just lounging around sleeping.

I guess I thought he was kind of interesting, and that's when the weird feelings began.

When I noticed his looks on the bus, I didn't look back. I stared ahead, my heart pounding, my palms getting sweaty. I tried to remain calm and stay still, just to let him keep looking at me. It made me feel kind of special. As the weeks passed into November, I began to look forward to the crowded bus ride in the morning, as long as I got to see him, with his red pants and chain necklace. It got to the point that when he _wasn't _on the bus in the morning, I would get upset. I would grow anxious and needy, and I'd have an unrelenting desire to see him and look at him.

I wanted to talk to him, or just sit next to him. I wanted to know his name, and have him know mine. I felt so stupid and attached, even though we had never even been introduced. I felt betrayed when he wasn't on the bus. So, I would purposely go and wander around campus, praying to bump into him, looking for a sleeping figure beneath the trees, or on an empty bench. When I didn't see him, I felt a gaping hole in my heart.

It was really irritating, considering there was no logical explanation for it. I knew he was all the things that annoyed me, and I didn't even know him. I just felt a connection with him, somehow. Like we were the only two people on that crowded bus that actually mattered - we were the only ones who knew the other was there.

It was the beginning of December, and it was only a few weeks until winter break. I knew schedule changes were going to occur, and he might not have classes in the morning. I knew he might not ever come on that bus again, and I'll be back in my rigid morning routine, studying my textbooks. So, I decided to ask him what was in his sketchbook on the following Monday.

And sure enough, it was 7:00AM, and I was sitting three rows behind my usual seat, next to the window seat on the left, exactly. I sat patiently, my hands folded neatly into place on top of the psychology textbook that cost me 100 dollars. I stared into the seat ahead of me, counting down the seconds.

"Excuse me, is anyone sitting there?" I heard a deep, strained voice say.

I looked upward and saw him, his brown hedgehog hair slightly damp from a morning shower. I shook my head 'no'.

"Thanks."

He stiffly squeaked passed me, and plopped down in the seat, placing his oversized black backpack on his lap. A few awkward minutes passed. I decided to flip open my textbook, too scared to ask about his sketchbook.

"Reading that book again? I thought you finished it by now."

I felt him smiling softly. I looked at him warily.

"I'm re-reading the last chapter. I have a final exam in a week."

"Did you make very specific, color-coded notes?"

I gave him a startled look.

"H-how would you know that?"

He gave me a goofy, lopsided grin.

"You're a psychology student," he began, "You wear the same black peacoat every day, your hair is perfectly cut and straightened, you annotate your textbooks with colored sticky-notes just to keep them organized, and you are always punctual. You always seem to be in a rush, and I always see you running around campus, never sitting down to relax. You definitely embody a medical student."

I gave him a smile.

"You definitely know me, I guess."

"I should. I've been observing you for the last few months. Want to see?" An exciting glow gleamed in his eyes.

My face flushed and I nodded quietly. He opened his backpack, which was filled to the brim with messy papers, and pulled out a black spiral-bound sketchbook. He then flipped through it slowly, and I took it in.

Pictures, portraits, sketches of me in all styles. Some of just the top of my head, and some of the side of my face. There were so many, and they were all so beautiful. I shook my head in disbelief. My face felt warm, and my heart felt like it was going to burst. I felt silly and shy, almost like a second-grader. I shook my head and closed my eyes in embarrassment, touching the sketchbook gingerly.

"That doesn't look like me at all! I'm not that pretty!"

I then felt rough hands gently touching the top of mine, with incredible sincerity. I opened my eyes and stared into those that were too-blue.

"That's not true," He looked directly through me, "I only draw what's really there. I promise."

I got that feeling again, right at that moment. I couldn't explain it before, but I think at that moment, it finally fell into place. He and I were on that crowded morning bus, packed to capacity with people. However, it felt like he and I were the only people who were actually there, in the whole busy and loud universe. Everyone's voices became quieter and their features began blending in. It was only the two of us, with the world whizzing past us, on a crowded bus, in the middle of December.

"My name is Sora. I'm an art major."

"My name is Kairi. I'm a psychology major. Nice to meet you, Sora."

_end._

**author's note: **My first one shot! Hope you liked it. I love SoKai, it's so cute. If you have any comments, please review! Always appreciated.


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